Sweet Serial Killer
by LuciferRising
Summary: Sam is seventeen when he is kidnapped by Lucifer, a serial killer and arsonist five years his senior. He expects the man to murder him. He's a serial killer after all- that's what they do, right? But for some reason, Sam's life is spared. Travelling from motel to motel with the man, Sam begins to wonder why he doesn't just run away. Samifer serial killer AU with some side Destiel.
1. Chapter 1

Victor Henrikson hated serial killers. And Sam Winchester had been a thorn in his side for far too long. It had all started three years ago, when the boy was only seventeen. As far as he could tell, Sam had been a model student for his whole school career, with only a few minor infractions tainting his otherwise perfect record. This had made it all the more shocking when he had gone on the run with the infamous serial killer five years his senior who was known only as Lucifer.

Victor sighed into what must have been his fifth mug of coffee that evening as he pored over Winchester's extensive file. The last known surveillance footage of the man was from three months ago. He supposed that the boy killer and his accomplice must have found a place to lie low for a little while following their almost-arrest just days before the footage was filmed.

He scanned the grainy stills from the security camera footage and sighed defeatedly. The picture was unfocused and contained no incriminating evidence whatsoever. It was from a small, independently run gas station in a town just outside of Dallas. Sam was alone and seemed to be doing nothing out of the ordinary. After all, protein bars and Pepsi could never be used as murder weapons even by killers as creative as Sam and Lucifer. And they were very creative when it came to killing. Just four months ago, they had murdered a high school chemistry teacher and sent the FBI on some kind of sick scavenger hunt to find various body parts belonging to the victim. The game had ended when Henrikson opened a parcel he had received in the post one morning to find the man's severed head. The image of the blank, staring eyes and congealing blood that still seeped out of the place where his neck was once attached haunted his dreams for weeks.

He put aside the most recent images of Sam and delved deeper into the file. He finally found what he was looking for right at the back, behind the details of Sam's original missing persons report that his brother Dean had filed just 24 hours after he 'disappeared'. It was his school photo from his junior year. Sam looked bright eyed and innocent, his floppy brown hair gleaming in the camera flash. He looked healthy, whole and happy. Not like a serial killer at all.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes and sighing deeply. There had been a killing down in Pontiac, Illinois only a week ago that sounded very much like your typical Lucifer-Sam murder; a slit throat and mysterious, arcane looking symbols carved all over the body. There was nothing he wanted more than to go home, put his feet up and watch Judge Judy with a bowl of potato chips and maybe a beer or two, but unless he found at least one solid lead on this case within the next few hours, he wouldn't allow himself to do so.

Henrikson stood up, stretching his arms behind his head and yawning deeply. Man, it was going to be a long night. Just as he was about to sit back down, he felt an odd shiver down his spine. His instincts were hardly ever wrong. He knew there was someone behind him and he knew that they didn't mean well. He turned around cautiously, the photo of a teenage Sam still clutched in his hand.

Lucifer was standing there. _The_ Lucifer. The Lucifer who had murdered over sixty people in cold blood just for kicks.

"Well, hi there _Vicky. _Heard you were in town."

Victor immediately reached for his gun, but it wasn't there. His eyes darted around the room, trying to find an escape route. Lucifer chuckled. "Don't bother trying to get away. You're not leaving this building alive."

"I'm gonna lock you up for life, you evil piece of shit."

"No, you're not. Is he, Sammy?"

Suddenly he felt a pair of impossibly strong hands grab both his arms and secure them behind his back with his own pair of handcuffs. Sam pulled the photo of his younger self out of Victor's hands and chuckled amusedly at it.

"Nope."

"What did you do to my men? Did you kill them, you son of a bitch?"

"I'm a serial killer, Henrikson. Of course I did, it's what I _do_."

"Sammy here is very good at killing quietly, you see. Nice quick slit of the throat with that silver knife of his and they're dead before they know what hit 'em."

Sam sauntered over to Lucifer, pressing a strangely tender kiss to his temple before turning back to face the FBI agent.

"I'm gonna take my time with you, though. You have no idea the amount of trouble you've caused us over the past few years."

Before Henrikson could move, Sam and Lucifer had each taken one of his arms and were dragging him outside into the cold, the rough tarmac of the parking lot scuffing his expensive leather shoes. He began to thrash around violently, kicking and crying out for help in a voice so desperate that it made the killers laugh.

They took him round behind the building, where Sam proceeded to gag him and tie his feet together, not even bothering to check for CCTV cameras. He liked it better when he knew that in just a few short hours, police all over the country would be forced to watch the murder over and over again.

He did indeed take his time killing Henrikson. Sam had always been the more delicate killer, preferring to let the victims bleed to death, either from the cuts he inflicted on their chest, arms and legs or from the inevitable slitting of the throat that had become his trademark, a calling card if you will. Lucifer, on the other hand, was a more violent murderer. He took pleasure from decapitating them or cutting their limbs off one by one or making holes in their skulls with power drills while Sam held them still.

He began with the chest, tearing open the agent's shirt with his silver knife as if it were made of paper and dragging the blade across his skin until dark red blood began to form along the incisions. After about fifteen minutes of carving, Sam stepped back to admire his handiwork, sticking out his tongue and licking some blood off the knife as Henrickson watched with terror and disgust. He felt warm, strong arms envelop him from behind and leant into the touch as Lucifer brought a hand up to card his fingers through Sam's hair.

"Mmm, watching you kill is so fucking hot, Sammy" he murmured into Sam's neck, smiling amusedly as Victor writhed in another fruitless attempt at escape. Sam turned around and pressed his lips to Lucifer's, the coppery taste of blood now strong in both their mouths. He deepened the kiss, and it became dirty and desperate as Lucifer pushed him up against the side of the building, pushing his hips forwards and pinning Sam to the wall. Finally he pulled away and wiped some of the blood off his chin, grinning.

"Let's finish this one off together, huh?"

Sam nodded as Lucifer wrapped his hands around his and helped him to guide the knife down to Henrikson's throat. Pressing hard into the FBI agent's skin, together they dragged the blade slowly across his throat. The crimson liquid ran down both sides of the dying man's neck and onto the yellowed grass of the tiny courtyard of the police station.

"You're fucked up, Sammy, you know that?"

"So are you. I guess that's why we love each other so much. We're made for each other."

Lucifer smiled as he put an arm around Sam's waist and led him back to the car. "MFEO, Sammy. You're mine. All mine."

Sam leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his soulmate's still bloody lips. "I'm all yours, Lucifer."


	2. Chapter 2

If Sam had to describe high school in one word, it would be 'bullshit'. The past two years had been hell; he tried so hard to maintain his almost perfect grades to keep his father off his back that he barely had time to do anything that he wanted to do. He only managed to sneak in some precious moments of downtime here and there before he had to get to work on another essay or assignment or stupid project. He'd just gotten to the stage where he physically couldn't do any more school work. And that was one of the reasons why he went on the run with a serial killer almost entirely by his own accord.

Junior year hadn't gotten off to a great start. Partially because only a week into the semester he broke up with his girlfriend of almost a year, Jessica Moore. Okay, he had been making out with one of his male best friends in the locker room, but he was just experimenting. It wasn't as if he was suddenly going to go full-on gay or anything. And then there was the whole matter of his older brother Dean. He was 21 and currently dating the preacher's son, Castiel. Who was only a year older than Sam. He realised that the age gap wasn't really that big, but the announcement of their relationship had shocked their conservative, almost completely christian neighborhood in Lawrence, Kansas. The preacher, Chuck, wasn't all too pleased, but let his son date Dean anyway; most likely out of fear of certain members of the congregation becoming angry.

Anyway, Sam had received a lot of unfounded hate because his brother was suddenly apparently gay for a high schooler. It wasn't too bad; he wasn't beaten up or shoved into lockers or anything, but it was the snide comments and bitchy little remarks that got to him.

It was a normal Monday morning in early November. Picture day was finally upon the students of Lawrence High, and for most, 'Picture Day' and 'Hell on earth' were practically synonymous phrases. Of course, you had the popular girls who looked like they were trying way too hard, with their orange foundation and pin-straight blond hair that Sam longed to pull out. God it was so obnoxious. Then there were the shy ones; the girls who tried to hide their faces behind their badly cut fringes and kept their mouths closed so that no-one would see their braces, and the nerdy guys who seriously needed to clean up their acne.

And then there was Sam, who didn't mind picture day in the slightest. In fact, he kind of secretly enjoyed it. There was something about it that made him feel important- just for that one minute when the photographer tells you how to sit and where to look and when to smile. He'd been called narcissistic on more than one occasion.

"Earth to Sam!"

Sam was shocked back into the present by the voice of Gabriel, who happened to be the twin brother of Castiel. He'd been held back for flunking sophomore year, probably because seeing Gabriel in class was about as rare as a cat flap in a submarine. Sam considered it a miracle that he even showed up for picture day.

"It's your turn, dude."  
>Sam glanced over to the photographer, who was smiling warmly and beckoning for Sam to come over and take a seat. He obliged, noticing how relatively young the man looked- he couldn't have been that much older than Dean. He sat down on the stool and watched as the photographer adjusted his camera. He was blond, blue eyed and kind looking, but there was something about him that seemed a bit strange. Sam couldn't quite put his finger on it.<p>

"Okay, Mr...Winchester?"

"You can call me Sam."

"Okay then, Sammy. If you'd just like to face me?"

Sam almost didn't realise that the guy had called him Sammy until he had done as he was told and already began smiling. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't care. Usually, he only let Dean call him Sammy, and never in public, but he felt like he knew this man for some odd reason.

Within five or so seconds, the photos had been taken and it was Gabriel's turn. As Sam went to collect his little slip of paper with his order number on it, the photographer looked up from his camera and grinned.

"Hey there, Sammy. Here's your ticket."

Sam could've sworn the man winked as he handed him the piece of paper and motioned for Gabriel to come over for his picture. When he got back out into the crowded hallway, Sam glanced down at the paper to find a hand written number on the back of it. So the guy had winked at him. Seconds later, Gabriel emerged and raised an eyebrow at Sam.

"Dude, is it just me or was that photographer guy just flirting with you back there?"

Sam didn't say anything in response, but he held up the ticket with an air of barely concealed smugness. Gabriel's eyes widened.

"Sam, you've gotta stop being hit on so much. It's not normal. People already call you a slut as it is!"

"Me? A slut? I've only ever fucked Jess and that was like four months ago."

"But you've made out with like half the school. Including guys. People are starting to talk."

Sam sighed as they reached homeroom, putting his bag on the desk and sinking down into the chair, still clutching the piece of paper.

"I really don't care if people are talking shit about me, Gabe. Just let them be obsessed with me if they want to- I don't object to that."

Gabriel smiled and shook his head defeatedly. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. You've got it real bad, haven't you? You're really not that important, you know."

"I am, actually. And don't call me Sammy."

-

Lessons dragged by that day. Sam seriously considered calling that photographer guy during his lunch period but decided that it would be better to wait until after school. Thanks to Gabriel and his big mouth, almost the entire year was aware of the fact that Sam Winchester had been hit on by the cute, nameless photographer.

"Maybe he's just a pedophile" suggested Ruby, who had been trying to get into Sam's pants since the start of Sophomore year and would do anything to get rid of potential 'competition'. "Perhaps he kidnaps kids like you and keeps them as slaves or something."

"He's about Dean's age, Ruby. And I'm seventeen- hardly a child."

Ruby pouted. "Well when you find yourself being held captive in some disgusting sex torture dungeon somewhere, don't come crying to me."

She stormed off theatrically, leaving Sam and Gabriel staring after her with a mixture of disgust and amusement.

"I don't think there's anything dangerous about the guy if you ask me, Sam. Anyway, you're good at defending yourself. If he tries anything you can just knock him out and run, right?"

"I guess."

Sam swore under his breath as the bell rang, signalling the start of the next lesson. "Come on, we're gonna be late for english if we don't get a move on."

Gabriel grinned and pulled a red lollipop out of his pocket.

"No way, Sammy. English isn't my thing. I'll see ya around, okay?"

Sam shook his head with a half amused, half despairing smile. "You really have to start coming to class, Gabe. At this rate your kid sister Anna's gonna graduate before you."

"Nah. I'm gonna graduate next year. As much as everyone around here loves me I don't think the teachers will want me hanging around for longer than is absolutely necessary."

Sam watched his friend saunter out of the main door before turning and making his way to geography. He decided he was going to call the guy after school.

-

Sadly, Sam didn't get any time alone at all that day. Dean had decided that it was a good day for some 'brotherly bonding' and so Sam was forced to go to Biggerson's with him and watch his brother as he devoured almost three entire burgers. He thought it slightly odd that Dean wanted to spend time alone with him; usually every spare minute he had was spent with Castiel. Sam wondered briefly if Dean and Cas were okay. Even though he found it extremely annoying to come home to find them making out on the couch almost every day, he knew that his brother loved his boyfriend more than almost anything else in the world. And Dean was really fucking annoying when he was single, so Sam sincerely hoped that nothing bad had happened between them.

"So, Cas said that the photographer gave you his number today."

Sam nodded, avoiding making eye contact with his brother.

"So, you gonna call him, or…"

"Well I probably would have called him already, but someone thought that it would be a good idea to drag me out and watch you stuff yourself."

Dean sighed. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I just wanted to spend some time with you like in the good old days. It's just that I feel like you've changed. And I don't know if it's in a good way or not."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, Sammy. You know exactly what I mean. You used to be a straight A student and you had a nice girl and wanted to be a lawyer. You always said you wanted a white picket fence one day. Over the past six months you've changed, little bro."

Sam stared at his plate. It was true, what Dean had said. He had changed. But unlike his older brother, he liked it. Recently he had found out a lot about himself, and he found it liberating. Not giving a single fuck about anything was amazing.

"I know, Dean. But I'm still your brother, okay?"

"Good."

Dean looked down, startled. His phone was blaring out some kind of rock music ringtone.

"Hello? Oh, hey. Sure. We'll be there as soon as possible." He put the phone back in his pocket and swore under his breath. "It's Dad. He wants us to meet him at Bobby's house. Said something about an emergency."

Sam rolled his eyes. The last time Bobby had called the Winchesters telling them that there was an emergency, he just wanted someone to watch his dog while he went hunting for the weekend. So more likely than not, it was something as equally stupid this time around.

"It's almost five, Dean. It takes nearly six hours to get to Sioux Falls."

"This is Dad we're talking about, dude. If we disobey his direct orders he's gonna be pissed."

Sam put his forehead down on the tabletop with a resigned sigh. Dean was right. The ex-marine could get pretty angry with his sons sometimes. He followed his brother out of the diner and into the Impala, slipping a hand into his pocket to check that the piece of paper was still there. He promised himself that he would call in the morning.

-

Unfortunately, it turned out that there was actually a genuine emergency. Three people had been murdered that very day, including an old friend of Bobby's, Rufus Turner. When the Winchesters arrived at Singer Salvage almost six hours later, Bobby was inconsolable. He was apparently trying to destroy his own house. John was sitting in the corner of the kitchen with a glass of whisky, deliberately trying not to look at his sons or his friend. Sam noticed that there was a deep cut just above his eyebrow. He wondered if Bobby had done it accidentally whilst throwing a chair or something. He certainly wouldn't put it past him, at least not when he was as angry as this.

Dean rushed over to Bobby and grabbed his arm just in time to stop him from knocking over the table.

"Hey, Bobby! Cool it, okay?"

Bobby stopped and looked at Dean as if he wasn't aware of his presence until a second ago. He looked around, finally taking in the extent of what he had done to his home. He flopped down onto the only chair that he had not yet chucked across the room and put his head in his hands.

"What happened, Bobby? Do they know who killed Rufus?"

"Lucifer. Fuckin' Lucifer."

Dean frowned in evident confusion. "What, as in the devil?"

"No, ya idjit. The serial killer."

Sam looked down at the table to see an array of files, pieces of paper and even some blurry photographs that looked like they were from security camera footage. He bent down to pick up what looked like a newspaper clipping. It was dated two months ago.

Satanic Serial Killer, 'Lucifer', Kills Two More Victims:

'The mysterious, sadistic and psychopathic serial killer known only as 'Lucifer' has struck again. Gordon Walker, aged 48, and Bela Talbot, aged 24, were both found dead in their homes last wednesday. The killer had put a power drill completely through their skulls before carving an upside-down cross into both their chests, something that has become the murderer's trademark over the past few years. Lucifer is suspected to still be in the area, so the police are advising people to be careful when going out at night and to ensure that all their doors and windows are securely locked when they are in their homes.

The FBI special agent who has been working on the Lucifer case since early 2010 (who cannot be named for legal reasons) is confident that he is closing in on the killer and that he will be captured very soon.'

Below the article was a photograph of the killer taken about a year ago, according to the caption. Sam's eyes widened. He looked far too much like the school photographer for his liking; the same short, dirty-blond hair and beautiful blue eyes… wait, no. He couldn't think that a serial killer was in any way beautiful. Sam knew he was fucked up, but finding a mass murderer attractive had got to be a whole new level of freak. And the similarities in their appearances had to be a coincidence, anyway. Surely a wanted criminal wouldn't just waltz into a high school and pose as a photographer. It would be too risky, right?

Sam looked up from the newspaper to discover that his father had finally come out of the kitchen and was deep in conversation with Bobby.

"So you're saying that in the past few months, most of this guy's victims have been guys you know?"

"Mostly huntin' buddies, yeah. And a few people I've had the misfortune of meeting once or twice, like that Bela girl. And I gotta say, that Gordon guy wasn't exactly a friend either. But Rufus was a good guy. I'm just glad that the other two vics today weren't friends of mine as well. Those two women down in Wichita could have easily been Ellen and Jo."

John nodded, breathing deeply and taking another sip of his whisky.

"Sam, you're not going to school tomorrow. I'll rent out a motel room for us tonight. It's too late to be driving home anyway. And Dean, you can go wherever you like, I won't stop you. But you gotta be careful, okay? If this evil son of a bitch is targeting friends of Bobby then we're probably pretty high up on his hit list."

Dean licked his bottom lip in thought before nodding at his father. "I think I'm gonna go check on Cas. Bobby knows the Shurley family too, remember?"

John nodded, handing Dean a small wad of cash before turning back to talk to Bobby. When the sound of Dean's Impala was out of earshot, Sam quietly grabbed one of the thicker Lucifer files off of the kitchen table and followed his father outside. They drove until they found a motel with a vacancy, and John booked their room under one of his aliases, Edgar Cayce.

John fell asleep at around one in the morning. Sam took this as an opportunity to browse the file on Lucifer and make notes on the killings; when and where they had happened, how the victims were killed and how many murders there had been within the last few years. He finally drifted off to sleep around three hours later, with the papers still strewn across the bed and a photograph of Lucifer clutched in his hand. His last thoughts before he went to sleep were why the killer was after friends of Bobby, and what the hell he had been doing disguised as a school photographer. But what both scared and excited Sam was the fact that the thought of phoning the guy was still ever present.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam awoke to find himself alone in the motel room. He had felt disorientated at first, momentarily forgetting that he wasn't at home in his own bed. He lay still for a few moments, watching as a spider scurried across the ceiling and into the corner above the window. Yawning loudly, he got out of bed and shuffled tiredly over to the other side of the room, where he found a hastily scribbled note lying on his father's unmade bed.

'Gone back to Bobby's for a while. They think they saw Lucifer near Sioux Falls yesterday. Stay in the motel and don't open the door to anyone. -Dad'

Sam sighed wearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sinking down into a chair at the little table they had. He still wanted to call the guy. The guy who may or may not be a serial killer who was currently hunting down friends of Bobby Singer. He stuck a hand in the pocket of the oversized grey hoodie he'd slept in, closing his hand around the slip of paper. It wouldn't do any harm to call, right? As far as he knew, Lucifer couldn't trace calls made from cheap mobile phones.

He grabbed his cellphone from the table and switched it on, completely ignoring the notifications saying that he had 5 missed calls from Gabriel, 3 unopened texts from Dean and even 2 missed calls from Cas. He went straight to the keypad, carefully typing in the digits.

Sam took a deep breath before pressing the green 'call' button and bringing the phone up to his ear. He expected to hear the dial tone for a long time before the man picked up, but to his surprise, he heard a voice on the other end of the line almost immediately.

"Sammy, I thought you'd never call. I'd begun to give up hope."

Sam hesitated before replying. "Are...are you Lucifer?"

The line was silent for a good five seconds before the strangely calming voice replied.

"So, you've figured it out already. I have to say, you're a clever one, Sammy."

"What do you want with me?"

Lucifer didn't say anything, but Sam could hear his heavy breathing down the phone. When he finally spoke, his voice was a lot softer, somehow more genuine.

"I'm not sure, to be quite honest. I was looking for someone like you for a long time."

"For what?"

"I just said, Sammy. I don't really know. But if you come quietly, I won't kill you."

"No way am I going anywhere with you. In fact I'm gonna call the cops right now." But Sam didn't call the cops. He just stood there, still with the phone to his ear. Something about Lucifer intrigued him and he found he couldn't even hang up the phone. It was almost as if he'd become obsessed with the man.

"You're not going to call anyone, are you? You see, this is why I chose you. You're different. You're like me, you see. We're special, Sammy. You're special."

Sam remained silent and began to pace between his bed and the table, running his fingers through his hair and every so often glancing down at the clearest picture of Lucifer that had been in the file. Nothing about the man's appearance suggested that he was evil; in fact, he looked kind and charming and beautiful, with his sparkling blue eyes and messy hair. Sam couldn't take his eyes off the guy.

"Will you stop killing our friends?"

"Only if you come with me right now."

Sam hesitated. Then he said what could either be the worst or best thing he had ever said in his life.

"Okay. Where are you?"

Sam could almost hear Lucifer's shock down the phone. He supposed that none of the killer's victims (or whatever Sam was) had given in so quickly before.

"I have to say, Sammy. I expected I was going to have to kidnap you, you know. Despite the fact that you're so very different to all the others. That was my plan A. And considering I'm not really a plan B type of guy, that's what I'm gonna go for."

Lucifer hung up. Sam swore loudly. What the fuck had he just done? He threw the cellphone across the room as if it were poisonous, wincing as it hit the opposite wall and broke into several pieces. He'd just agreed to be kidnapped by one of the most notorious serial killers of the decade. He stood in the middle of the room, his heart beating so loud that he could hear the blood pumping through his veins. He'd just wait until Lucifer got there and then go without a struggle. Then when the guy thought he wasn't going to run away, he'd make a break for it. That'd work, right?

It turned out it wouldn't. Sam felt a pair of strong arms envelop him from behind, and a warm hand pressed a damp cloth smelling of chemicals to his mouth and nose. He struggled feebly before feeling his whole body go limp and he surrendered himself to the drug induced sleep.

Sam woke up in the back seat of a moving car. He was sitting upright, with his hands and feet bound together. He looked down at himself and was pleasantly surprised at the lack of blood. So Lucifer hadn't wanted to kill him after all. That had to be a good sign, right?

His kidnapper was sitting in the front seat, steering with one hand and eating french fries with the other. He glanced in the mirror and smiled. "Sam, you're awake! Sorry about knocking you out earlier. Didn't want any fuss."

Sam groaned quietly, trying to ignore his throbbing, chemical induced headache."How did you get in the motel room? I locked all the doors and windows."

Lucifer grinned. "I killed the guy at the front desk and stole the spare key to your room just after your daddy left this morning. I was in there all along. Hid in the cupboard under the sink."

"That can't have been very comfortable."

The killer grinned. "It was a bit of a tight squeeze, yeah. But it was worth it. Now I've finally got you."

Sam didn't say anything. He knew that if he asked Lucifer why he wanted him, he'd be met with the same "You're special" speech that he'd received earlier. So he remained silent and stared out of the window, trying to figure out whereabouts they were. They were driving down a long, straight road through what seemed to be a desert of some kind. There was nothing but dusty sand and rocky outcrops for miles.

"Where are we?"

"Utah. About two hundred miles outside of Salt Lake City. Got two people to kill."

Sam frowned. "Just two random people, or…?"

Lucifer nodded. "I try and kill two people per state. Obviously if I come across people I need to kill, people who get in the way, I'll get them too. But I like to keep it methodical otherwise. It's kind of like a weird type of ODC."

Sam stared at the back of the man's head, puzzled. "Why?"

"I don't really know, to be quite honest. I do remember when I realised I wanted to kill, though. I was bored after a math test back in highschool so I planned a serial killer road trip on a piece of scrap paper."

Lucifer smiled. It wasn't a creepy sort of smile, Sam realised. It was the smile of someone who was reminiscing fondly about something.

"Do you ever feel like you're different, Sam?"

Sam stared out of the window at the barren landscape and sighed. "Sometimes, yeah. I mean, I know that I don't really feel emotions like other people do. Is that what you mean?"

Lucifer nodded. "Kinda like that, yeah."

"So… I don't ever feel guilty. I can do something that I know is wrong according to society and the law and shit and I just won't give a fuck. I manipulate people; my friends, family, my teachers. And they don't even know I'm doing it. And...and I like it."

Lucifer actually looked understanding. He smiled softly into the mirror, and Sam swore he could detect a hint of affection in his eyes. But if this man was anything like him, that affection and understanding and softness would surely be fake.

Neither of them spoke much for the rest of the journey. Lucifer attempted to make small talk, asking Sam about school and what type of music he liked and whether he had a girlfriend or not. Sam told him about Jess and about his friends and about Gabriel, and even about his family and Dean and Cas, and afterwards felt strangely comfortable with sitting in a small, enclosed space with a mass murderer. He supposed afterwards that this had been the guy's plan all along; make him open up and get used to the idea of being a… what was he exactly? A hostage? A victim? He just didn't know anymore. He found it was best not to to think about it.

About thirty miles outside of Salt Lake City, Lucifer pulled up at a gas station and came back after about five minutes with a bag of chips and a few protein bars.

"Thought you'd like these. Saw some wrappers on the table in your motel room."

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise as Lucifer opened the door, knelt on the back seat and broke off a piece of the protein bar. He held it up close to Sam's mouth for him to bite. Sam hesitated for a moment before giving in. His hands were tied and he was starving, and he wasn't about to refuse food, even though it was being fed to him by a serial killer as if he was a small toddler. He opened his mouth and allowed Lucifer to feed him the protein bar piece by piece. The man leaned in close to him, close enough that Sam could feel his strangely cool breath on his neck. He felt a shiver run through his whole body as Lucifer fed him the last bite and climbed into the front seat, ignoring the line of at least three cars behind them who were beeping their horns in an impatient manner, obviously wanting their turn at getting gas.

Lucifer started the engine, and before Sam knew it they were speeding down the road again.

"It's only about half an hour until we reach Salt Lake City now. When we get there I'll untie you for a bit so that we can get a motel room without drawing attention to ourselves."

Sam silently agreed.

***  
>It turned out that the only motel with a vacancy was three miles away from the town centre, and it was so filthy that even Sam, who had spent most of his early childhood staying in unsavoury places, found it extremely uncomfortable.<br>It was evening by the time they arrived at Oasis Lodge Motel, and Lucifer, true to his word, untied Sam during the short journey from the car to their room. Sam had considered making a run for it whilst Lucifer was distracted by a text message, but the fact that he had nowhere to run to discouraged him from even attempting to escape.  
>Lucifer checked in under the name Nick Pellegrino. Sam wondered briefly what his real name was. It definitely wasn't Lucifer- the FBI file said that the killer had created this pseudonym early on; he'd carved the name into each of his victims' chests after killing them. It obviously wasn't Nick either. He'd have to be pretty stupid to use his own name, and Sam knew for a fact that this guy was one of the most intelligent killers to have ever lived. So his true identity still remained a mystery.<br>Sam's temporary feeling of freedom was crushed as soon as Lucifer closed the door behind them. He grabbed Sam's wrists and handcuffed them together in front of him, lightly pushing him backwards until he was sitting on the corner of one of the lumpy beds.

"If I go out for a little while, will you be good? I'll even let you watch HBO as a treat for being so well behaved today."

Had he been well behaved? He hadn't tried to escape, or hurt Lucifer, or scream for help, after all. Sam briefly wondered why he hadn't. He was a first dan karate black belt and reckoned he could take Lucifer down if he needed to. He could have shouted for someone to rescue him when Lucifer had been inside the gas station buying the chips and protein could have said something to the man working at the front desk of the motel. But he hadn't.

All those opportunities to escape and he had taken none of them. Sam realised in that moment that he was still completely and utterly obsessed with the man. He'd know it from the moment he'd first met him, back at the school during picture day, and even more so during the night when he pored over endless files and photographs and police reports and newspaper clippings. He found him intriguing. He even found himself liking some things about the man; the way he looked at him, the way his seemingly cold blue eyes lit up and grew soft when one of his favourite songs came on the car radio or when Sam talked, the way that he actually showed genuine interest in his life. So Sam nodded.

"Good. I don't know exactly when I'm gonna be back, but it should be before midnight."

Sam looked up at his captor with a blank expression. "And... and you trust me? To be left alone when all I have to do is walk out that door and tell the man at the front desk that you've kidnapped me?"

"Yes, Sammy, I do trust you. You're different from all the other people I've taken. You're the one."

"The one?"

"The perfect apprentice, Sammy."

Sam looked shocked and slightly puzzled. "What do you mean by 'apprentice'? What, are you going to train me to be a serial killer or something?"

"Bingo."

"You've got it all wrong. I'm not different in that kind of way. I could never kill anybody, I would never-"

"That's a lie, isn't it, Sammy? You've murdered them all already, haven't you? Murdered them in your head, over and over and over again. Whenever you were bored you'd go into those twisted little fantasies of yours and by the end of it the whole room would have drowned in their own blood. I know you do, Sammy. I can see it. I do it as well."

Sam honestly had nothing to say in response. Because it was true. Every bit of that statement had been true. And he knew that if he was 'normal', that should have really worried him. He should have been so shocked at what he was capable of thinking that he'd run straight to the school councillor. That's what all his friends would do. But he never did. Because it didn't bother him in the slightest.

"Think about that, Sam. Oh, and when I get back, I might not be alone."

Lucifer handed Sam the TV remote and left, the door slamming shut behind him in the draft created by the open window. Sam lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, tiredness clouding his vision. He'd go to the owner of the motel in a minute, he decided. He would go to them and they would call the cops and he would go home to Dad and Dean and Cas and Bobby and Gabriel and Jess, and everything would be okay.

He didn't end up going to the manager, in the end. It turned out that he was more tired than he had first thought, and after only five short minutes, fatigue had overcome him and he fell into a deep and surprisingly untroubled sleep.

He was woken almost four and a half hours later by the sound of what was almost certainly gunfire. Sitting upright and falling off the bed in a blind panic, Sam stood up and strained to hear what was going on. It was strangely silent in the motel now, a stark contrast to the ear splitting cacophony of bangs from only thirty seconds previously. Sam stood perfectly still, his heart beating so loudly he swore he could hear it. Then the door opened so quietly it was almost comical. Lucifer walked in, carrying a man's lifeless body in his arms, which was dripping dark crimson liquid onto the dirty carpet from a deep gash in his stomach.

"Get the door for me, would you, Sammy?"

Sam walked over to the door and shut it, finding he wasn't able to take his eyes off the unconscious form as Lucifer carried him into the bathroom and lay him in the bathtub.

"Is he dead?"

"Not yet, no. I'm waiting for this one to wake up before we kill him."

"Woah, woah, woah. We? I'm not killing anyone. You can if you want, but, I'm going back to sleep."

"Suit yourself. It's your loss. This one's gonna be a real screamer."

Sam hesitated before climbing into bed, curling up into the foetal position and trying to block out the man's agonised moans with his pillow. Some part of him hoped that someone would hear the screams, but Lucifer had gagged the guy and everyone else in the motel was probably dead. So he shut his eyes tight and fell asleep again, only this time, his slumber wasn't entirely dreamless. It was broken by visions of himself killing alongside Lucifer, carving into people's flesh and burning buildings and watching blood run off of people's bodies and onto the floor in crimson rivers. And yet again, when he woke at 4 in the morning to get a drink of water, he found that his thoughts didn't really bother him in the slightest.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Sam noticed when he woke up was that his hands were no longer bound. He flexed his wrists, grimacing at the uncomfortable stiffness brought about by several hours of being cuffed. The second thing he noticed was the distinct lack of serial killers. He glanced over to the other bed and found it still made and very obviously not slept in.  
>Sam climbed out of his own bed and put on a blue plaid shirt that he assumed was Lucifer's. He padded softly towards the bathroom and knocked quietly.<br>"Uh, Lucifer? You in there?"  
>The reply was instantaneous. "Sam, you're awake. Come in,"<br>Sam did not go into the bathroom. The overpowering, cloying smell of coppery blood was now evident. He supposed that the man from last night was finally dead.  
>"Have you killed that guy?"<br>"Just come in, Sammy."  
>Sam held his breath and opened the door, covering his nose and mouth with his hand and trying not to look at the body or the small lake of blood that filled the bottom of the bathtub.<br>"I need you to help me carry this bastard outside."  
>"Why? Look, I think we should be getting out of here. If the cops-"<br>"The cops aren't gonna come, Sam. I killed everyone else in this place and changed the sign out front to say 'no vacancy'"  
>Sam stared into Lucifer's eyes, determined not to look at the bloody lump of dead flesh that lay completely motionless, its eyes glassy and blankly staring at the ceiling. It reminded him of the freshly caught fish that lay on the ice counter at the supermarket. Only far more creepy looking.<br>Without breaking the stare, Sam bent down and grabbed the guy's ankles, all too aware of the blood that had soaked through the dead man's pants and onto his hands.  
>Together, they carried the corpse out onto the yellowed patch of grass that served as the motel's front lawn. Sam tried to ignore the dozen or so bodies that lined the hallway, all with a bullet wound in the forehead. He stared at the back of Lucifer's head, finding the now familiar blond hair oddly reassuring to look at.<br>"I've got a job for you, Sammy."  
>"Yeah?"<br>"There's a bottle of gasoline and a box of matches in the trunk. Get them for me, would you?"  
>Sam did. After all, everyone in the motel was already dead, right? It wasn't as if they would suffer or anything. Besides, it was a good way to cover their tracks. He didn't think leaving their prints at the scene of a mass murder would be a good idea.<br>Sam stopped walking before he even reached the car. He was already starting to think like a killer. If he wasn't careful, he'd turn out like Lucifer. Because the too-cute-for-his-own-good murderer had been right. Sam did have the capability to kill, and he knew it. He'd known all along, really. And so he got the gasoline and the matches and brought them back to Lucifer.  
>"Get the gas and pour it around the motel."<br>Sam did. It was only halfway through doing so that he began to wonder why; why he was blindly following this guy. It wasn't as if he liked him; the man had drugged him, kidnapped him, tied him up, fed him a protein bar in a gas station in the most humiliating way possible and had now ordered him to burn down a motel that contained at least a dozen corpses. So no. This wasn't out of affection.  
>Sam wondered briefly what his chances would be if he tried to escape. He could wait until a car came along on the highway, run out in front of it and get inside before Lucifer had even noticed. But then he looked back at the man, who was busy carving his trademark inverted cross onto the corpse's chest, and he realised that he couldn't. Not just yet, at least. He still found himself drawn to him; and he wouldn't let himself walk away before knowing a bit more about him. And so he continued with his task of dousing the perimeter of the building with gasoline.<br>When he was done, he walked cautiously over to Lucifer, who had apparently finished with the artistic part and seemed to be beheading the corpse.  
>"Ah, Sammy. Finished with the motel?"<br>Sam nodded slowly, unable to take his eyes off the severed head or the pool of dark crimson blood that spread out to almost a metre away from the place where it was once attached to the neck.  
>"It's quite something, isn't it? Seeing a dead body for the first time? I was only seventeen when I made my first kill. Almost exactly the same age as you."<br>Sam remained silent. Lucifer looked up at sam with an amused expression. "I saw you earlier, you know. Staring at the highway. I just want you to know that I'd never hurt you, Sam. That's not what I 'kidnapped' you for. You know that. And if you ever try and run away, I'd be upset. And you wouldn't like me to be upset, would you?"  
>Sam spoke for the first time in what seemed like hours. "You...you'd be upset? Really? Why?"<br>Lucifer licked his bottom lip slightly in thought, tilting his head to the side a little. "Well, I guess I've been alone for way too long. Five years without a companion can get a little lonely sometimes, even for someone like me."  
>He opened his mouth to reply, but Lucifer surprised him for bringing a finger to Sam's lips before he could say anything. But the murderer's slightly bloody index finger was drawn back just as quickly as it had appeared, and Sam was silent again.<br>"We've gotta torch this place and get the hell outta here before the cops come and stick their noses in. Care to do the honours, Sammy?"  
>Sam shook his head. He'd already participated in this crime enough, right? "No, thanks. Can I… can I wait in the car?"<br>Lucifer studied Sam for a moment before nodding his approval. "As long as you don't try anything. I'll be there in a minute."  
>The car that Lucifer drove was a relatively nice blue one. Sam supposed that it was stolen and that he had to change vehicles often, but it was comfortable and was inconspicuous enough not to draw attention to them. Sam was sitting in the backseat when he realised that the keys were in the ignition. He almost laughed; he could just drive away. But then he figured that Lucifer wouldn't be that stupid; either those weren't the real keys or this was some kind of loyalty test or something.<br>But then he realised that he was dealing with one of the most intelligent killers to have ever lived. Lucifer wouldn't be so stupid as to leave his captive the keys. Or maybe he was; maybe this was some kind of test of loyalty. Sam decided to leave the keys for now. It would be better to wait and somehow turn Lucifer in to the cops at the next town they stopped in. He knew the guy would most likely leave in the middle of the night to kill someone again, and this time he was determined not to fall asleep.

Sam watched with fascination as Lucifer lit a match and threw it to the ground, the gasoline igniting almost immediately, licking the walls of the motel and burning the yellowed grass below. He couldn't take his eyes off it; the way it blackened the brickwork and windows, the way it engulfed the dying shrubs and lit up Lucifer's face with flickering yellow light. The murderer checked that the mutilated corpse was far enough away from the fire before turning round and walking back to the car, a strange kind of almost scary looking smile on his face. His eyes looked wild, animalistic, even. The usual mesmerising blue-grey was a sparkling ice and Sam wasn't sure if he liked it.

He remained silent as Lucifer got into the front seat, eyeing the untouched car keys with evident amusement and what seemed to be surprise and admiration.

"I gotta say, Sammy, I'm proud of you. You passed the first two tests." He started the engine and pulled out of the small motel parking lot, and began speeding down the highway to Salt Lake City.

"Tests?"

"Yeah. Test one; not attempting to escape even though you had the opportunity. You've had loads of chances to run away and yet you haven't."

"And what's the second test?"

"Participating in a crime. You helped me move a body and burn down a motel. That's enough to get you locked in jail for a long, long time."

Sam didn't say anything, only watched the landscape outside turn more and more urban as they got closer to the city. He stared at the back of Lucifer's head again, noticing a patch of red on the collar of his dark green shirt.

"There's blood on your shirt, Lucifer."

The killer grinned. "There's some on yours too, Sam. Or should I say mine. You look good in my clothes, by the way."

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, electing to stare out of the window again. Lucifer turned the radio on and began singing along to "Stairway to Heaven." It took all of Sam's self control not to join in.


	5. Chapter 5

"So, remind me again why we're in the city centre?"

"There are lots of people here who would make the perfect victim."

"And..."

"And we can blend in?"

"Well done. Care to choose the target, Sam?"

Sam sighed. It had been almost a whole month since the Utah murder, and so far Lucifer had only killed one other person; a woman who lived in a trailer park in a town about 20 miles outside of Salt Lake City. She had been a waitress at a local diner and had apparently served Lucifer some fries before he persuaded her to go back to the motel with him when she got off work. He had killed her quite quickly, ending her life with a gunshot to the stomach. He told Sam that it was usually best to kill people like her quickly and to only torture people who really deserved it. He learned that the man who Lucifer had killed in the first motel was a convicted rapist who was charged with the sexual assault of three twelve year old girls back in 1980. Sam quickly realised that the bastard had deserved every wound that the killer had inflicted on him. Now they had moved onto Nevada and Lucifer was looking for someone to quench his bloodthirst.

Sam nodded. "Okay. But I don't want to kill them. I'm not sure I want to do that kind of thing yet."

Lucifer grinned before replying. "Progress is progress, Sammy. Who do you like the look of?"

Sam looked around at the other people in the little outdoor cafe. There was a family sitting at the table next to them; a young man and woman with their three small children. The littlest one was still a baby in a pushchair. He shook his head and pointed them out to Lucifer. "Not them. I know what it's like to grow up with only one parent and trust me; I wouldn't wanna inflict that on those kids."

Lucifer smiled; his expression one of approval. The table across the little square was home to a trio of men in suits; all of whom were wearing sunglasses and eating salads out of little clear plastic boxes. They all looked too boring to even think about killing.

The final table was occupied by a man who was apparently smoking weed. Right out in the open. The smoke was in danger of wafting over to the young family on the breeze, and one of the businessman had started coughing. The guy looked unkempt, filthy and downright disgusting. His yellowish skin was sagging; his face pale and gaunt. He got up and walked away, wobbling slightly and coughing on his own smoke.

"Him. Let's kill him."

Lucifer smiled. "Why?"

"Well, he's likely homeless. He probably spends all his money on drugs and alcohol; money given to him by kind people who take pity on him. He's more of a burden to society than an asset, right?"

"He sure is, Sammy. How about I give you a little job?"

"What kind of job?"

Lucifer pulled out a wad of tissue from his pocket and poured a small amount of clear liquid onto it. Sam recognised it as the knockout drug that the killer had used on him when he was kidnapped.

"The guy's just walked down an alleyway. No-one else is around. I want you to go and press this over his nose and mouth. He should be too stoned to try to fight you off."

Sam hesitated. "What if I get caught?"

Lucifer chuckled. "Look around you, Sammy. Everyone else is too engrossed in their own pathetic little lives to even notice anything going on. And if anyone were to see you, do you really think they'd interfere? Come on. Would anyone really want to get that close to a homeless guy like that?"

Sam peered around the corner into the alleyway. The man was sitting on the ground, slumped against the wall and seemingly fast asleep.

"Okay."

Sam crept down the alleyway, being careful not to step on any of the broken bottles that could smash under his feet and alert the man to his presence. He knelt down beside him, the stench of marijuana and stale whisky evident. He glanced back at Lucifer, who nodded reassuringly at him, his grey-blue eyes full of a strange pride.

Sam directed his gaze back towards the man and almost without thinking he reached down and pressed the damp cloth to the man's nose. The guy must have already been asleep because he didn't even react to the overpowering chemical smell at all. Either that or he was in an alcoholic coma of some kind. He heard the crunching of broken glass and turned to see Lucifer standing behind him, a look of odd admiration on his face. Sam was reminded of the first time he had shot a deer while hunting with Dean and their father, and both of them had looked at him so proudly. This was slightly different, though. Lucifer seemed to be staring into his soul, and his pupils were dilated. Sam felt his face flush, his heartbeat quickening. He looked away before the killer could notice any change in him. The last thing he needed was for the guy to think he was developing feelings for him.

"So, uh, how are we going to get this guy back to the motel without anyone noticing he's drugged?"

Lucifer smiled as if he was about to laugh. "Come on, Sam. He's a homeless drug addict. He _looks_ like a drug addict. No-one's gonna question us if one of us carries him over our shoulder into the motel, and if we do, we'll just tell them he's our drunk friend. If there's one thing I've learnt about being a serial killer, most people don't look too deeply into things. Carrying a victim you've just beaten up? Say they've just gotten into a fight and you're helping them get back home. Just drugged someone? Say they're drunk. It works almost 100% of the time."

"Almost?"

"There was this one time that I accidentally chose an undercover cop as a victim. Some bitch asked me what had happened to him and when I told her that he was my friend that had gotten into a bar brawl, she came over to see if he was okay. When she saw his face she pulled a gun on me. Turned out she was an undercover cop as well and that I'd just beaten up her partner. They'd been tailing me for the past month. God that was a close one. I managed to shoot her with her own gun and get the guy back to the motel room. Of course, I drew out his death a little while longer than I was going to at first."

Sam nodded. "I don't want to carry him. You can do it if you're so determined on killing the guy."

Lucifer shook his head, a look of amusement on his face. "What am I going to do with you, Sammy?"

Sam knew that it wasn't a question. Lucifer had no intention of him answering it, and so he forced a smile back and bent down to try and pick up the foul-smelling man that was still unconscious on the alley floor.

"No, don't bother, Sam. I'll do that; you go and wait in the car, okay?"

Sam nodded, doing as he was told and getting into the silver hatchback that was their latest stolen mode of transport. As he leant against the cool glass of the window and watched as Lucifer picked up his victim and hoisted him over his shoulder, he wondered briefly why he hadn't run away yet. Lucifer said that it was because he was 'like him' and that he was going to kill someone eventually no matter how against the idea he was at the moment. Early on he supposed that Lucifer would force him to take part in the torture and murder, but so far, the killer had been perfectly happy for Sam to stay in the motel room while he was out looking for potential victims, and in the case of the waitress, had allowed him to wait in the car while he killed her quickly and carved his inverted cross into her chest before getting in the car himself and driving them the 230 miles to Elko, Nevada. They had stopped at a supermarket about halfway through the journey so that they could get some food and water, and Lucifer had allowed Sam to accompany him inside. It was probably on this day that Sam realised how completely and utterly he was under this man's control. There were dozens of people in that store; even a small group of cops that had come to buy sandwiches and Doritos for their lunch, and yet Sam had remained as silent and obedient as a well behaved puppy, trailing along behind Lucifer and even smiling when the man bought him a small pocketknife. And he knew that he should feel wrong about their whole relationship, but spending time with Lucifer was the most interesting and thrilling thing he had ever done. He found that he was never bored when he was in the killer's company; not even on those long car journeys. Lucifer had begun trying to teach Sam different methods of killing and body disposal and had even encouraged him to try and come up with his own MO for when he started doing some killings himself. At first Sam had tried to block out his words, staring out of the window and humming along to the radio, but after a while he found himself listening intently.

Lucifer opened the trunk of the little car and shoved the man inside and made sure no-one was watching before he forced it closed. It was a tight squeeze and Sam heard Lucifer curse loudly; apparently the guy's hand was sticking out. He walked round to the car door and got in, sighing deeply.

"The sooner we kill that son of a bitch, the better off everyone will be."

Sam nodded slowly, thinking it was best to agree. He didn't even bother correcting Lucifer's use of the word 'we' rather than 'I', and as the killer turned onto the highway, he realised that he didn't particularly care anymore. Maybe he was special after all.

Gabriel swore loudly at the phone before throwing it down onto the table and clenching his fists in anger, breathing deeply to try and quell his urge to break something. He'd called eleven police detectives within the past month and not of them was willing to tell him anything regarding his best friend's whereabouts. He sank down into an armchair, his face buried in his hands. He had _known_ that there was something dodgy about that photographer, and he hadn't said anything; not _once_ had he thought of telling Sam that something might be off about the guy. Castiel had kept telling him that it wasn't his fault, that there was nothing that he could have done. Even Dean, whom he hardly ever spoke to, had reminded him time and time again that Sam was such a strong willed son of a bitch that he wouldn't have taken Gabriel's advice anyway. Gabriel knew that he was right and yet he couldn't get rid of the gnawing guilt that hung over his head like a storm cloud. Fuck, he had even _encouraged_ Sam to call that evil bastard, said that everything would be fine and that "It's not like he's some kind of psychopath, right?"

The morning of Sam's disappearance, he had been nursing a hangover and was dead to the world until almost four in the afternoon, by which time, news of his best friend's kidnapping was the top story in every newspaper, news channel and radio broadcast in the whole country. Lucifer was such a big name in the world of killers that whenever he abducted or killed someone, it was sure to make headlines as soon as the press got wind of it. He had just sat down on the couch with a beer and some Cheetos and felt sick to his stomach the moment he turned on the TV. It was tuned to an emergency CNN broadcast with the words "Serial killer, Lucifer, kidnaps 17 year old Sam Winchester, from motel room in Sioux Falls" emblazoned across the screen. His heart had all but stopped, and he felt like someone had just simultaneously kicked him in the chest and punched him in the stomach. He gazed at the picture of the killer on the screen, wondering how the fuck he hadn't recognised the guy at picture day. _I'm such a stupid son of a bitch_, he had thought. _Stupid, stupid little shit_. He had thrown up onto the carpet, then, his body shaking violently and involuntary tears rolling down his cheeks in a river of salty liquid. He wiped them from his face and stood up, a new look of wild determination in his eyes. _Right, you bastard. I'm going to find you. I'm going to find you and I'm going to kill you and I'm going to rescue my best friend._ That night he had prayed for the first time in years.

Gabriel sighed, staring at the phone that he had just discarded on the table. _There has to be something_, he thought. _Some kind of lead. _He froze when the phone started ringing and then let out a long breath. He had long since stopped being optimistic about phone calls. At first, he had leapt up to answer the phone, hoping it would be the police saying that they knew where Sam was. But it was almost always some random people "offering their condolences". So he took his time getting up out of the armchair and padding slowly over to the table before answering the phone.

"Hello, is this Gabriel Novak speaking?"

"Uh, yeah. What do you want?"

"There's been another Lucifer killing. Down in Nevada. And we have some good news. I shouldn't really be telling you this, but... your friend Sam is alive."

Gabriel almost dropped the phone.

The kill had been a lot quicker than the one Sam had witnessed, but a lot longer than that of the waitress. The man hadn't even tried to escape at first; obviously he was still so drunk and high that he wasn't able to process what was going on. But when it finally dawned on him that he was about to die, he began thrashing and screaming so much that Lucifer had shoved the corner of a bunched up pillowcase down his throat to stop him from alerting the motel staff. He had begun with removing the man's shirt, screwing up his face in disgust at the smell. He started off by slowly making deep incisions into the chest, smiling as the deep crimson liquid formed along the perfectly straight lines and ran in little rivulets down the side of the man's ribcage. Sam recognised it as the same animalistic grin that Lucifer had worn back at the motel in Salt Lake City when he had been killing the first guy. Back then, he wasn't sure if he liked that or not, but now, staring at the killer as he finished the man off with a deep cut to the throat, he realised that in a sick, twisted kind of way, he did.

Later, when Lucifer had left his mark on the victim and they had begun the drive to the next city, Sam asked him why they hadn't burned the place down.

"Sometimes I like to leave them a little trail. You know, keep them entertained for a while. Their pathetic little minds need some stimulation now and again, you know."

Sam nodded in agreement and stared at Lucifer. This was the first time he had sat in the front seat since he had been kidnapped, and he decided that he liked it. Lucifer stared back at him for a few moment, his eyes back to their usual softer blue-grey.

"There's blood on your cheek, Sam."

"Oh."

Sam didn't even object when Lucifer leaned across and licked it off.

Much, much later, when Lucifer had booked them into a motel about 80 miles away and Sam was drifting off to sleep, he felt a soft hand stroking his hair off of his forehead and as if from far, far away, he heard a tender whisper of "goodnight, Sammy." That night Sam's sleep was so deep and so very untroubled that he didn't wake up until ten a:m the next morning.


	6. Chapter 6

Two weeks later, Sam could comfortably say that he had settled into his new life. Sure, it was tiring and dangerous and occasionally extremely bloody, but he found himself drawn to the killer more and more every day. He liked the way he sang along to the car stereo, the way he ate French fries by biting both ends off first, the way he couldn't sleep in a motel bed before first changing the sheets for fear of bed bugs. He liked every little quirk and flaw; everything that made the guy unique seemed to draw Sam in. He was like a magnet, pulling Sam further and further towards him. And he knew it.

A couple of weeks after the murder of the homeless man, Lucifer checked them into a small motel on the outskirts of a city called Fernley. Neither of them had mentioned the time when Lucifer had licked his cheek, nor the hair-stroking the night of the murder, but both events seemed to be hanging in the air above them and neither had the motivation to discuss them. And so they didn't. Some small part of Sam, the part that knew how he really felt, was secretly disappointed that he couldn't talk about his feelings for Lucifer. The rest of him, however, the part that kept on telling himself that he was sane and that he would run away and go home soon, decided to keep its mouth shut. And so he did.

Lucifer had awoken first that morning, and Sam padded softly over to the tiny living room area to find the killer wide-eyed and staring at the TV. Upon closer inspection, he heard the words "Lucifer's hostage, Sam Winchester, is believed to have allied himself with the killer and police are now investigating the possibility of him being an accomplice in several murders."

"Shit."

Lucifer turned around on the couch at the sound of his voice and walked quickly over to Sam, stretching out his arms and enveloping him in a warm, strong embrace. Sam couldn't breathe for a good thirty seconds. This was the first time Lucifer had shown this kind of affection for him, and je found he already liked it. He pressed his cheek to Lucifer's chest, the killer running a hand through Sam's hair. He could hear the man's heartbeat, fast and strong.

"It's okay, Sam. I won't let them get you, okay? You're safe with me."

Sam kept his arms wrapped around the killer but lifted his head up so he could look him in the eyes. _Those eyes_ he thought. _Those eyes are gonna be the death of me._ Finding no words to say to this, he simply nodded and returned his head to Lucifer's chest. The murderer chuckled before releasing him and holding him by the shoulders.

"It's too late to go back now, Sammy. You do realise that, don't you? Your prints are all over that last crime scene; all over that cloth that you used to drug that man. That's enough to charge you of being an accomplice to the murder."

Sam stepped backwards, allowing the killer's arms to fall off of his shoulders.

"Was that your plan all along? To get me to leave my prints at a crime scene so that I would either have to stay with you or hand myself in to the cops?"

Lucifer nodded. "I'm afraid so, Sam. Although, you have to admit, it's not really so bad, is it?"

_No,_ Sam thought. _It's not so bad. _

"Whatever. I'm gonna go take a shower. You can go and find a victim or something."

Lucifer chuckled at Sam's vexed tone of voice.

"You know you want to stay, Sam. You've known it for a long time now, haven't you?"

Sam paused, his back still to Lucifer. He was seriously considering turning round and telling the killer exactly how he felt about him, telling him how completely and utterly devoted to him he was. But he did not. Instead he continued into the bathroom without so much as a backward glance, shutting the door behind him and sinking down onto the tiled floor with his head in his hands. _I should tell him_, he thought. _I should tell him that I want to stay with him forever. _And as he was getting into the shower, he couldn't help but smile at the sound of Lucifer singing 'Sympathy for the devil' outside the bathroom door.

An hour later, Sam found himself alone in the motel room while Lucifer was out looking for a victim. He had long ago become accustomed to wearing Lucifer's clothes, even though the killer had offered to buy him some of his own. He was currently wearing the grey over shirt that Lucifer had been wearing the first time he saw him. It was certainly his favourite; it smelled of the interior of the car and of French fries and even faintly of sweat. But most importantly, it smelled like Lucifer.

Sometimes he wore it to bed and curled up into a ball, imagining what it would be like to snuggle up to the killer every night, to wake up with those beautiful grey-blue eyes staring at him from the pillow beside him. Sometimes he wondered whether Lucifer knew that he did this; but if he did, he hadn't mentioned it.

Sam turned his attention back to the TV. They were currently airing a nationwide appeal as to the whereabouts of Lucifer and Sam. They cut to a small row of people sitting at a table, microphones in front of them and constant camera flashes illuminating their faces. At first he didn't recognise Dean. Or his father. Or Gabriel. When he did, he felt his heart stop. Their faces were pale and thin, and Dean looked like he hadn't slept at all. John seemed to be holding back tears, and Gabriel's face was filled with a look of determined grief.

"We just want you home, Son," said John, screwing up his face in an attempt to make the tears go away. "No matter what you've done out there, we'll still love you."

The camera cut to Dean, who somehow still managed to keep his cool. Sam could see the worry and grief in his eyes, though.

"Sam, I want you to remember that we're your family, okay. We care about you. No matter what this evil bastard says to you, please remember that we're the ones who care about you."

Finally, the screen showed his best friend's face; pale and thin and so un-Gabriel that it scared Sam a little. Did they really care about him that much? He doubted it. Over the past month and a half, Lucifer had shown him more care, affection and attention than Dean, John and Gabriel ever had. Hell, even more than Jess.

"This message is for Lucifer," said Gabriel, his voice wobbling. "When I find you, you're gonna wish you never touched Sam. You're gonna wish that you were dead."

Gabriel ignored the police officer that was attempting to take the microphone away from him.

"You can't threaten someone on national TV, son. It's not allowed."

Gabriel held on tight to the microphone as the cop tried to pull it from his grasp.

"I might just kill you myself, you son of a-"

The screen went black. Sam supposed that they had to turn off the live broadcast before Gabriel got too carried away. Now _that _was more like him. He had always been strong-willed.

Several hours later, Lucifer returned, blood smeared on his cheek and a panicked look in his eyes.

"Sam? I need you to help me hide a body."

They were by a river. Lucifer had driven erratically, swerving around road maintenance blockades and shooting every red light he came across. Sam had caught sight of the body immediately; she was lying by the riverbank, her blood running into the water and making a grey-pink colour.

"Why can't you just push her into the river?"

"It's too shallow here. I need you to help me carry her downstream."

Together they carried the body along the riverbank and onto a bridge about half a mile away. They dropped her into the water and watched until she had sunk out of sight. Lucifer turned to look at Sam, that look of pride showing in his eyes again. They stayed there for several moments, staring into each other's eyes in the middle of the bridge. Sam could feel his face growing red, his stomach so full of butterflies that he felt like he was about to go on a rollercoaster for the first time. He didn't object when Lucifer reached out a hand to cup his face, nor when he laced his fingers through the hair on the back of his head and pulled him closer.

"I knew you were special, Sammy."

Their faces were just inches apart now. Sam could feel Lucifer's cool breath on him.

"So did I."

And then they were kissing. Lucifer's lips, just like his breath, were strangely cool and soothing on Sam's, and soon he found his mouth growing numb. It was all tongue and teeth and desperation, Lucifer's hands carding through his hair and Sam's arms wrapped around the killer's waist. Lucifer was holding Sam so tightly to him that he couldn't remember life before this moment. All that existed was Lucifer, and he never wanted it to end.

It did, of course. All things end, right? Lucifer pulled away, his arms still wrapped around Sam. His lips were red and slightly swollen. _I did that,_ thought Sam. _I just kissed Lucifer. _Lucifer was staring down at Sam as though he couldn't quite believe he existed.

"You're the most perfect human being on this earth, Sam."

Again, Sam didn't know what to say. And so he kissed him again.

Later, when they were back at the motel, Sam wondered what that kiss had meant. Lucifer hadn't spoken a word to him on the journey back, and had announced that he was going to go and take a shower the moment they had returned to the motel. Sam supposed that he regretted the kiss. After all, he was supposed to be just his 'apprentice', right? He didn't think that the killer intended to develop feelings for him. When he heard the water stop and the bathroom door open, he lay down on his bed and shut his eyes. If Lucifer didn't want to talk about their 'relationship' then neither did he. What he didn't expect was for the killer to lie down on the bed behind him and wrap his arms around his waist.

"I know you're awake, Sammy."

Sam turned over onto his other side so that his face was mere inches from Lucifer's and their legs were entwined, the killer's arms still holding Sam close. Sam took a deep breath. _Okay, Sam. Pull it together. It's now or never._

"Lucifer, I have some things I want to say to you."

Lucifer smiled knowingly. "Go on, then."

"I've kind of been fascinated by you from the very beginning. Then after the first kill I started to realise that maybe I thought of you as more than just my captor. And then I kinda found myself drawn to you and now I can't stop myself from thinking about you all the time. It's the little things you do that make you so perfect to me; all your little flaws and quirks and the way you sing in the car and in the shower and the way the corners of your eyes crinkle when you smile. And once I look into your eyes I can't look away."

Lucifer stared at him, his eyes widened slightly.

"And... and I want to start killing for you."

Lucifer's eyes gleamed.


	7. Chapter 7

Sixteenth of December, 2010. The date of Sam's first kill. He remembered it vividly; the way the woman had struggled and fought against the drug that Sam had pressed to her face, the way she had thrashed and screamed after she had woken up and the look in her eyes when she realised she was about to die. Lucifer had let him pick his victim. He'd selected her at random from a deserted suburban street on the outskirts of Twin Falls, Idaho. She'd been easy pickings really; talking on her cell phone whilst wobbling along in high heels. They had taken her back to the motel, telling the curious owner that she was their friend who had got drunk and passed out at a party. Lucifer had been right; people didn't look too deeply into things.

Lucifer had let Sam do all the work; laying her on the bed and tying her down with rope. It was all too easy. She began screaming as soon as she'd woken up and so Sam shoved a pillowcase into her mouth, remembering how effective that method had been when Lucifer had used it on the homeless guy.

He remembered all his lessons; starting with small cuts all over her body and then gradually making deeper incisions that made her crimson blood run down her pale sides in strangely beautiful rivulets. He was vaguely aware of the fact that this woman was innocent and that by Lucifer's code, she should be killed quickly, but the moment he had seen that first drop of blood form on her lily-white skin, he knew there was no going back. It was as if an animal had woken inside of him and had taken absolute control. He brought the knife to his mouth and licked it, smiling at the look of disgust and terror in the woman's eyes. Her eyes were blue, he noticed. The wrong shade of blue. Lucifer's were perfect; bright and shining with just the right amount of grey and little flecks of silver. Hers were wide and tinted slightly green, filled with desperate, hopeless tears. She was pathetic compared to his Lucifer.

Sam had deliberately left an expanse of skin empty. Lucifer had advised him the other day that he should come up with some kind of trademark so that the police could differ his kills from Lucifer's, and after some research on the internet had decided what symbol he was going to use. He reached down and carved out a perfect pentagram onto his victim's chest, hearing Lucifer's hum of approval behind him as he finished the last line. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, feeling Lucifer wrap his arms around him from behind and rest his chin on his shoulder. He kissed Sam's neck softly, reaching up a hand to wipe some blood of his cheek.

The woman looked at them with disgust, deathly pale and lying in a pool of her own blood. She'd managed to spit out the gag, but she wasn't trying to scream anymore. Sam wondered how much more blood she'd need to lose before she died.

"You- you're disgusting," she whispered. Sam could already hear the life leaving her voice.

"What did you say?" he said as calmly as possible, walking back over to her and brushing some of the hair off of her neck, his pupils dilating at the sight of the white, untouched, perfect skin that was stretched over her throat. She looked him in the eyes, a new look of bravery on her face. Sam had to give it to the bitch; at least she had the balls to look her killer in the face.

"I said; you're disgusting. Faggots."

Upon hearing the last word, Sam reached down and slit her throat in one fluid motion, grinning maniacally at the blood which gushed from the cut. At the same time, he felt a strange spurt of triumph as he saw the life drain from her eyes. Her eyes that were totally the wrong shade of blue.

Sam was still breathing heavily, holding the knife out in front of him with a predatory grin on his face.

"Sam?"

Sam turned and looked at Lucifer, his heart still beating hard and fast, adrenaline pumping through him.

"Sam, I want you to put the knife down now, okay? She's dead."

Sam looked down at his bloody hands and at the knife as if seeing them for the first time. Something seemed to click in his brain, and he slowly lowered the weapon and looked back up at Lucifer, his eyes calmer and his breathing more regular.

Lucifer held out his arms and Sam fell into the killer's embrace gladly, the warmth of the other man's chest seeping into his very soul. He looked up at him, noticing that strange look of pride in his eyes.

"You okay, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, somehow unable to break eye contact. He leaned forwards instinctively, closing the distance between them until their lips met in a fierce kiss. Lucifer grabbed his shoulders and pushed Sam roughly backwards until his back was pressed against the wall and Lucifer's hands were entwined in his hair, pulling his head forwards and pinning his hips to the wall with his own. The kiss was rough and dirty and both of them were now covered in the blood of Sam's victim, and neither of them wanted it to end.

Sam took control, pushing Lucifer backwards until his legs hit the end of one of the beds and he fell backwards onto the mattress. Without breaking the kiss, Sam climbed on top of Lucifer so that he was straddling him, pinning the killer to the bed with his thighs. He pulled away, breathing heavily and grinning down at the man lying underneath him. He rolled off of him and lay down beside him, their legs entwined and Sam's head resting on Lucifer's chest.

"Lucifer."

"Yes, Sam?"

"I liked that. I liked that a lot."

Lucifer smiled, stroking Sam's hair and closing his eyes contentedly.

"I knew you would, Sammy. I knew from the start."

Sam closed his eyes, burrowing his face deeper into Lucifer's hoodie and ignoring the drying blood on his hands and face. As he felt sleep approaching, he took one of the killer's hands in his own and together they let themselves drift off into a blissful oblivion.

Thirty miles away, Gabriel Novak sipped his glass of scotch and concentrated on the tiny TV screen in the bar he was sitting in, desperately searching for a sign of his best friend's whereabouts. He had persuaded his father to let him skip school to go and search for Sam. After all, he hardly ever went to class anyway. It wouldn't do any harm. He sighed and turned his gaze away from the screen, bending his arm so that it was lying flat on the table and resting his head in the crook of his elbow. This was useless. Finding Sam turned out to be almost as difficult as passing a class that he never attended. Several times since starting his search it had briefly occurred to him that maybe Sam didn't want to be found, that maybe Lucifer had brainwashed him into wanting to stay with him. He'd read about Stockholm Syndrome on the internet, about how the hostages sometimes become attached to their kidnappers or develop some kind of emotional bond with them. Of course, certain people had said that Sam had chosen to go with Lucifer, that he had always been some kind of psycho and that it was only a matter of time before he went on some kind of killing spree. Several of them were taken to hospital after "falling down the stairs" and the others were too scared of what might happen to them to say anything else about Sam. Gabriel had always enjoyed betting revenge on people who spoke badly about people he cared about.

But the recent evidence linking Sam to several murders had made even him question his best friend's sanity. He had initially refused to believe it, but then he had remembered picture day. He remembered the photographer, and after looking at several grainy photographs of Lucifer on Google Images, he had come to the conclusion that he had been the same guy who had flirted with Sam and given him his number. Maybe Sam had agreed to meet him or something, and Lucifer had kidnapped him then. Or maybe Sam had gone with him of his own accord. He just had no idea why.

Gabriel sat up and sighed, glancing up at the TV screen one last time. At first, the headline flashing across the bottom of the screen didn't register in his tired and alcohol numbed brain. When it did he almost dropped his drink.

'_New footage of Lucifer and his hostage Sam Winchester from a K-Mart in Twin Falls, Idaho, suggests that the pair may now be romantically involved.'_

The news channel cut to a video showing Sam and Lucifer in the back corner of the store, seemingly just shopping for chips or something. But then the camera zoomed in on the pair, and Gabriel noticed that they were holding hands. Lucifer leaned across to Sam and whispered something in Sam's ear, who laughed and pressed his lips to the killer's, dropping the bag of chips that he was holding and grabbing Lucifer's shirt, pulling the man closer to him. Then the screen went black.

Gabriel heard a noise behind him and turned around, letting out a long breath as he realised that it was only the bartender.

"That whole thing with Lucifer is terrible isn't it? Brainwashing that poor boy. Kinda makes you wonder if there's a God out there, doesn't it? I don't see why he's let things like that happen."

The man put down the TV remote and resumed his mopping of the sticky wood floor, shaking his head and sighing.

Gabriel shrugged and looked around, noticing that the bar was empty. He hadn't realised how late it had gotten.

"I'm looking for Sam and Lucifer, as a matter of fact. Sam's my best friend."

The bartender looked up at Gabriel, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Hang on, you're the kid from that TV appeal, aren't you? Didn't they have to stop the broadcast because you threatened to kill Lucifer, or something?"

Gabriel nodded, finishing his whisky with one last sip and setting the glass down on the table. "It wasn't an empty threat, dude. I really am gonna kill that evil son of a bitch."

The man chuckled. "If you say so, kid. But from what we just saw, do you really think that your friend wants to be rescued?"

Gabriel licked his bottom lip thoughtfully, staring down at the freshly mopped floor and running a hand through his floppy brown hair.

"I don't know. But I decided long ago. I'm going to save him whether he wants me to or not."

Gabriel walked out of the bar and into the dark and deserted parking lot, ignoring the rain and making a beeline for his car. He didn't make it halfway across the tarmac before he felt someone press a damp cloth to his face and let the darkness take him.

A/N: I know that was an incredibly short chapter. But I have exams and it's hard to do any writing without feeling guilty that I'm not revising. But, an update is an update I suppose.


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